


Withered Rhizanthellas

by Nosferatank



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consequences of premarital affairs with a dark dragon god, Ishtar Lives, Multi, Unsafe Meat Cooking Practices, lightning flashes thunder rolls "IT'S ALIIIIIVE!"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nosferatank/pseuds/Nosferatank
Summary: The Crusaders in Belhalla took no prisoners, yet Ishtar was spared. Stripped of her position and freedom, the consequences of her actions lurk behind her for years to come.(Updates on Thursdays)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoof, this has been in progress for a LONG time. Thankfully since I’ve finished playing fe4 it’s far more comfortable to write the characters. Many thanks to the God Squad™, who provided a metric fuckton of inspiration and got my ass in gear, Loptyr especially. [SNES SCREECHES]

Ishtar woke groggily, huffing out a noseful of Julius’s hair that had migrated up her nostrils sometime after they fell asleep following their… de-stressing time. They had arrived at Miletos Castle nearly a week ago, with Emperor Arvis there to greet them. Though her meeting and scheming with the Emperor had been dissolved after Julius’s interruption, Ishtar still had backup plans waiting for her in Belhalla. 

Ishtar slipped her arm from beneath Julius’s lanky form, rising up off the bed and snagging the robe hanging off the door handle before slipping the clothing on. Her mother had been harassing her again to get married already, but Ishtar truly didn’t feel ready for it. Oh, she and Julius certainly felt the passion of lovers between them, and Ishtar was a noble already initiated in the trails of ruling, but marriage in such tumultuous times was unwise. She felt it better to wait until afterwards.

As for now, Belhalla awaited them.

———

Ishtar rained lighting upon the infantry forces of the opposing army, sparks wreathing her like a shawl. While the ordinary soldiers were felled easily, as they should, the commanders remained frustratingly alive. Ishtar’s pegasus guards had fallen and she had lost sight of the Weissen Ritter as she attempted to shoot down a pegasus knight, the flier darting about like a moth and remaining out of reach.

The grass around her started to spark and catch fire as Ishtar charged up a particularly brutal bolt of Mijolnir, the sky darkening above her in response. She hefted the tome, thrust out her hand-

And nothing came of it, the lighting around her dissipating.

Panicking, Ishtar snapped out her spare Elthunder in hopes she had simply overexerted herself, but as she fumbled the scripts open she started to falter. It was as if a dome of ice was pressing against her spine from above, forcing her to her knees. As her eyes began to close, she recognized a staff held by an enemy priest. She railed against the spell, her magic clanging and clawing at the confines of passive magic. 

But Ishtar had been caught off guard and reacted too late, and thus succumbed to the Silence and Sleep spells.

———

The moment Ishtar regained consciousness, Ishtar darted up and groped around her for a tome, a piece of spell-compatible paper, anything. She found nothing, and instead observed her confines.

Ishtar recognized quite easily were she was, and the knowledge unsettled her. 

Anyone caught in Belhalla’s prison ought to be unsettled, after all.

Upon examining herself, she was uninjured, but all of her weapons were gone. Even the tiny Thunder spell she kept tucked inside her boot for emergencies had been pilfered. Ishtar stood up, as she was unchained, and went to test the bars and stones. She knew objectively that Belhalla was the most secure place in the country, but it didn’t hurt to try. Through her stumbling attempts to escape, Ishtar groggily noticed a guard rushing up the steps to Belhalla’s main level. 

A short time later, he returned with a young man and woman, both of them not much more than children (But who was she to say: she hadn’t reached the age of majority yet herself). Ishtar recognized Julia, but the young man beside her was unknown to her.

“Princess Julia.” Ishtar greeted, not bothering to curtsey. She was already imprisoned, after all.

“Lady Ishtar. I presume you know why you are here, but if you have any questions, please ask.” Julia said demurely, but Ishtar could see the cogs turning behind the heiress’s eyes- she had more political training than Ishtar could imagine, so she needed to be careful here.

“May I ask who your companion is, Princess?”

The boy spoke for himself now. “My name is Seliph, of House Chalphy. I am Julia’s half-brother, and commander of the Liberation Army.”

Ishtar’s eyes widened momentarily, and then narrowed as she put on a mask of indifference. “So tell me then, commander: why am I still alive, if your army succeeded in taking over Grannvale?”

Julia answered this time. “It was on request of your cousin Teeny; she had no desire to see more family die. As she was fighting for us, we honored her request.”

“So she resigned me to a lifetime in Belhalla’s dungeons? How generous of her.” Ishtar sneered, carefully doing her best not to show the worry and panic she felt at her failure to protect Belhalla.

Julia tilted her head, looking through Ishtar as if she was made of glass. “As befitting of a high noble, exile was the option we agreed upon. Your needs will be cared for there, and you needn’t worry about living in poverty.”

“Besides,” Seliph interjected. “Executing the remaining heir to Tordo would cause some serious imbalance and unrest, and nobody could stand that after the war already took its toll.”

“So where is this banishment to take place, then?” Ishtar asked, hoping beyond measure that a life of stone imprisonment truly did not stand before her.

“There is a pocket of isolated royally-owned land, with a bungalow as suits a high-ranking prisoner of war. There will be servants there to serve as both groundskeepers and guards.” Seliph explained.

“I accept the terms of your sentence.” Ishtar replied, knowing that she did not precisely have other options anyway. Ishtar knew it was rather lenient, even knowing the rather cushy prisons Holy Blood carriers were afforded when they offended the law. 

“So be it. Tomorrow we will be here with your guards to see you off.”

As they turned to leave, a realization burst inside Ishtar like a meteoric impact.

“Wait!” She cried before they could start up the steps. “What happened to Julius?”

Julia looked away guiltily, and Seliph gently set his hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Our brother… fell in battle. Farewell, Lady Ishtar.” He responded somberly, escorting Julia out of the dungeons.

Ishtar stared for a moment at the space they had previously occupied, uncomprehending. It didn’t take long for it to hit her. Her lover was dead, slain by his own twin. 

She waited until the patrolling guard was out of sight to pull her cloak over herself and mourn, privately and silently.

———

The young emperor made good on his promise, and arrived with two guards to take her to her prison: an iron-haired Valkyrie and a broad-shouldered blonde woman with an axe. Both of them obviously knew who she was, as they bowed to her after they opened her cell door to escort her out. Ishtar noticed that the tome on the old healer’s hip was wind magic- something incompatible with her. They had certainly thought this through well.

There went any ideas of escape.

They ascended out of the dungeons in silence, the Valkyrie in front of there and the Berserker behind her with Seliph. When they reached the castle gates, Ishtar took note of the four pegasi, one of them particularly laden with packs. It seemed they were to be taking the high-speed route to the area.

“Lady Ishtar?” The axe-fighter questioned in an effort to get her attention, drawing her eyes to the hands cupped to boost her onto her mount. Ishtar silently declined and swung up with practiced ease. Looking down at her jailor, she requested.

“What are your names, guards?”

The warrior responded with the shallowest bow she could get away with, responding “Brigid, of Thracia. My friend over there is Rodmilla.”

Ishtar nodded, and allowed her pegasus’s lead rope to be taken in Rodmilla’s hands as the healer mounted up. Without further preamble, they took off.

———

Ishtar was quite relieved when they set down, but did her best not to show it. The warlocks of Freege rarely used equines as war-mounts, as the crashing lightning of high-level thunder magics spooked even the strongest-willed of horses. Ishtar sat down on the packed earth, watching Rodmilla and Brigid unpack the camping supplies. She felt a bit guilty for not helping, but she knew next to nothing about roughing it; besides, this was their job, anyways.

Rodmilla set the fire, and Brigid started unwrapping the rations they were sent with. She tossed one to Ishtar, who caught it deftly and began prying the package open with starving fingers. Might as well try and get on her guards’ good sides, since she was stuck with them for the next few decades.

“Thank you, Brigid.”

“No problem, Lady Tordo.”

Ishtar waved her gloved hand. “Please call me Ishtar, after all I don’t have much more rank than a prisoner, yes?”

Brigid snorted. “Fair enough. Well, you should sleep while you can. You should too, Rodmilla,” She tossed over her shoulder. “Since you’ve got the bitch watch after all.”

Rodmilla swatted Brigid on the back of her head. “Oh, no need to remind me. And don’t swear in front of nobility, it’s improper.”

Furthering her attempts to ingratiate herself with the guards, Ishtar interjected. “’Tis fine. I’ve heard worse from my father, after all.”

Brigid full out laughed at that. “Ooh, I don’t think this job’ll be that bad at all, yeah Rodmilla?”

The Valkyrie muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Go the hell to sleep.” back at her. Feeling tired herself, Ishtar opted to start resting, though the crude suggestion was not aimed at her.

———

As they crested over a rise, Ishtar took note of her guards leading the pegasi into a descent. It seemed they had arrived. 

The cottage was modestly-sized and surrounded by trees, with a small deck and an attic visible. The porch rails were aged and a bit splintery, but the door was worn smooth at least. There was a lean-to barn attached to the house itself, and a storage shed filled with logs. While Brigid stabled the pegasi, Rodmilla and Ishtar entered the home. Ishtar wrinkled her nose, trying not to sneeze, as Rodmilla summoned a wispy and weak Wind spell and blew all the dust and dirt out the door. 

“Well, home sweet home.” Rodmilla muttered, setting down her and Ishtar’s packs on a low table in front of the fireplace. “I’ll be bunking with Brigid on the bedroom to the right. The one on the left is yours. There should be food in the pantry, but be careful with it since it’ll be awhile ‘till the next supply run.”

With that Rodmilla went to settle herself into there room, leaving Ishtar alone. The warlock briefly considered attempting to escape, but she knew this place was so isolated she’d have a hard time making it to civilization alive. That, and the possibility of recapture was high, as the features of Major Tordo carriers were quite distinctive. 

She entered her own room, taking in the moderately-sized bed and desk. There seemed to be paper and an inkwell here, at least. She would consider writing, if she had anyone left to write to. The first thing she did was retrieve her old journals she had requested be sent with her and set them on the desk.

Ishtar dug through her bag, changed into nightclothes, and wormed her way beneath the covers, feeling exhausted in ways sleep could not abet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ishtar doesn't have much want for food or books (just not spell books) while she’s imprisoned: Seliph made damn good on his word to Teeny that Ishtar’d be treated well.

Nearly a month after the Battle of Belhalla, Ishtar was feeling more settled in her environment, both with the home and her guards.

Unfortunately she was not settled with herself, as she was currently vomiting into a pot by her bed.

After hanging off her bed pathetically for a few minutes, Ishtar groaned and got out of bed, hefting the filthy pot up and taking it with her to dump outside. Ishtar saw Brigid munching on some bread at the modest table, her eyebrows venturing up at the pot. 

“Again?” She remarked. “That’s the fifth time in as many days. I was serious when I said I’d tie you down to get Rodmilla to look at you.”

“No, no, I’m fine…” Ishtar tried to rebuff.

Brigid scoffed. “Like shit you are. Emperor Seliph would have my head if you died in a relatively threat-free territory.”

Ishtar simply ignored her, proceeding to exit the cabin and dump yesterday’s wasted dinner on the compost pile nearby. Later in the day Brigid had made good on her word, and Ishtar looked up from her book to the sight of Rodmilla barging into her room unannounced. Before she could even protest, the Valkyrie held up a hand and commanded “No, don’t even start. Children these days…”

Seeing no way out of her fate, Ishtar resigned herself to being poked and prodded and all the other unpleasant things healers seemed fond of doing. But Rodmilla soon hit the cause, if her expression had anything to do with it.

“Ah, Lady Tordo… were you perhaps married before the war?”

Giving her a rather confused look, Ishtar answered “No, I was not.”

“Well shit, then.” Rodmilla mulled over her apparent discovery for a few moments. “Well, may as well say it plainly. You appear to be with child.”

Ishtar’s head bolted up in shock, remembering wen she and Julius had… Damnation! Before she was married!

“I…” Ishtar shakily inhaled. “Please leave. Now.”

Rodmilla actually looked a bit concerned, but moved to exit. On her way out, she looked over her shoulder. “You know, I’ll need to let the emperor and his chief advisor know. This… complicates things a bit. Just thought you should know.”

“Yes, thank you. Please go.”

Rodmilla left without further word, gently shutting the door behind her.

The healer was correct. This indeed complicated things quite a bit. The position of a noble bastard was not an envious one, especially not with the empire in its current state. That, and the dislike riding high against the losing side of the Holy War would make life difficult. Ishtar wished, fervently, that Julius was still alive, and here. And her father. And brother…

She stopped herself before she could go down that road again.

———

Apparently Rodmilla had sent that letter, and she promptly delivered the response to Ishtar. Not wasting any time, the mage ripped it open and began to read.

_Lady Ishtar of Tordo,  
I hope this missive finds you in good health, if not good spirits. Rodmilla informed me of your state, so I suppose congratulations are in order. However, that is not the purpose of this letter. After some discussion, Julia and I expressed desire to take in our nephew or niece. As much as I loathe separating children from their parents, life in exile does not suit children, and this one has done nothing to deserve such a fate. They will be well cared for, and as so many of the Fala line passed away during the war they could quite easily be passed off as a relative on Julia’s side of the family. All I ask is that you consider our proposal._

_Regards,  
His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Seliph of Gannvale._

Ishtar set down the letter, pondering this proposition. She knew quite well that a life of isolation was incredibly detrimental to the development of children. And if Ishtar found her new life a bit on the dull side, any kid living here would find it absolutely maddening. She knew that the relative of an emperor would get an impeccable education and living environments. Ishtar also thought, selfishly, that she was not ready for motherhood, especially without the father here.

Knowing this, the decision seemed obvious to her.

She immediately retrieved a paper and the inkwell from her desk and began her response.

———

Eight months after the decision that would shape her child’s life, Ishtar was in immense pain.

Childbirth was the war against Death, after all- there was no more difficult battle to be fought.

Even with Rodmilla’s liberal use of Heal’s pain-numbing abilities, Ishtar still screamed and shrieked throughout the night. Brigid’s hand was gripped rather tightly in Ishtar’s, her bones creaking under the strain. 

After Rodmilla finally told her she was done, Ishtar felt more strained than she ever had in her short life. Brigid shook her hand out as Ishtar finally released it and Rodmilla gently passed her the child, wrapped in the blankets available in the cabin.

“A girl. You said earlier you had a name in mind?” The Valkyrie questioned.

“Yes, Galle.” Ishtar mumbled, remembering when, in a conversation with Julius about the politics of the empire, he expressed a desire to bring the name back into prominence in the minds and hearts of the subjects.

Ishtar, knowing she would only see the girl for a week more at most, attempted to shunt off the feelings of attachment that came with the baby.

She failed quite tremendously.

———

Nearly a week to the day saw a small squad of wyvern riders appear over the horizon. Brigid went out to greet them, then came back to inform Ishtar that it was time for Galle to head out. Ishtar stood, draped in her master mage’s cloak, and strode out the door with all the bearing and poise instilled within her as a Tordo. 

There stood two wyvern lords at her door, accompanied by a portly nurse. Ishtar took a moment to silently say goodbye to her daughter before handing her off to the nurse. She passed Galle to the nurse, the sleeping child oblivious to the action. At that, the visitors mounted their wyverns and lifted off.

It was the last time Ishtar would see her daughter, she knew.

———

Julia waited anxiously with her brother for the arrival of their niece. They had sent out the wet nurse, accompanied by two professional wyvern riders, nearly four days ago and they were expecting them back any hour now. Though he didn't know it, Julia knew Seliph felt the same way as her. 

Seliph shook her out of her thoughts when he spotted the fliers on the horizon, pointing at them as they landed. Julia rushed down to greet the arrivals, Seliph running behind her. As soon as the nurse dismounted, holding her niece, Julia accepted the small burden into her arms. She looked remarkably like Julia’s brother, with tufts of red hair already visible on her head. 

“What is her name, nurse?” Julia asked.

“Lady Tordo said her name was Galle, my lady.”

Julia froze. “I see…”

The nurse’s face showed some concern, though and she spoke again. “I was worried the entire trip here, as the child’s heartbeat was irregularly slow. Though the healer with the mother said Galle was fine, is she still safe?”

Julia checked herself, and indeed found the infant’s heartbeat very, very slow. She recalled, unsettlingly, that Galle’s father in the sense of soul and magic was truly Loptyr. Earth dragons, like all immeasurably large creatures, possessed extraordinarily slow heartbeats. 

“Ah, yes. She will be fine.” Julia assured the nurse. Seliph had walked up behind her, peering over her shoulder at his niece. He released all decorum while he reached out for her, smiling as the child gripped his finger.

It appeared that Julia would need to do her best to keep her brother from spoiling Galle rotten.

———

Julia had only left her nine-year-old niece in her rooms for a moment while she fetched a book from the library, but was alerted prematurely by the ear-piercing (literally, Julia felt blood trickling in her ears) scream of an anguished child. Julia ran to her room, robes whipping behind her, and thrust the door open. 

Galle was sitting by Julia’s bedstand, sniffling and clutching her hands to her chest. on the floor beside her, the Book of Narga rested innocently face-down on the floor. When Julia gently pried the child’s hands away from her chest, she saw the blistering burns marked on it.

“What happened?” Julia asked, concerned.

“I just wanted to read the book… and it burned me!” Galle sniffled.

The conclusion was easy for Julia to make. Loptyr and Narga were mortal enemies, after all. 

She explained. “This is my Holy weapon, from the bloodline of Heim. It has defensive enchantments, so only Narga-blooded people can touch it.”

Julia continued. “How about I teach you how to heal it yourself?”

At Galle’s brightened expression and excited nodding, Julia brought her to the cleric’s lab and attempted to teach her the basics. 

She kept the Narga in a lockbox under her bed from then on.

———

Seliph, on his way to the training grounds to receive some stress, heard one of Galle’s tutors calling for her. This wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, as the girl especially despised her classes on politics. Seliph resolved to keep an eye out for his eleven-year-old niece. 

Lo and behold, upon reaching the border of the packed ground in the arena, Seliph spotted Galle perched under a tree, feet buried in the soft sand. She was making small spinning motions with her finger, the earth following her direction as if she were stirring soup. There was already a modestly sized pile of stones that caught her fancy, evidently destined for her growing rock hoard. 

Seliph walked up and placed his hand on her head, scratching at her scalp softly. Galle looked up in surprise, her freckles indistinguishable from the dirt dotting her face, and greeted “Uncle Seliph!”

“So, dear niece of mine,” Seliph casually began. “How were lessons?”

Ever the pitiful liar, Galle nonetheless attempted to cover her tracks. “Uh, it was great! He let me out early when we finished.” 

Seliph put a little more pressure on his niece’s head. “And I suppose that means I was mistaken when I heard him calling for you?”

“Uh… yes?” Galle deflected lamely.

Seliph snorted. “Good try, kid. If you apologize for arriving late, I’ll consider letting you keep those stones.”

Sullenly, Gelle got up and responded “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go apologize.”

“Look at it this way- at least you’ll have dark magic tutoring after this.” Sleigh encouraged, knowing of her love of that branch of magic.

Galle perked up at that, and she eagerly got up to leave.

“See you later Uncle!” She called over her shoulders.

Seliph looked at the churned earth beneath him, and wondered when precisely his niece learned how to manipulate the ground.

———

Galle was currently elbow-deep in the less traveled areas of the Imperial Library, and she was on a _mission._

That mission was to alleviate her boredom. She had no tutoring today, and she’d already scoured the castle ground for some nice granite chunks and practiced her stave-work, and was then left with nothing to do. Thus, she decided the library would be enough to satisfy her fifteen-year-old mind. Her wavy hair was even pulled back into a tail for ease of reading, and she meant business.

So far she’d had less success than she expected. The recent history books contained no information, the political texts were a bore as always, and the books on magical practices had been read dozens of times already. Galle was driven to the furthest, oldest corners of the library, the dust tickling at her nose.

Finally, she found something that looked promising. Ancient history, score!

Galle climbed up the bookshelves to fetch the think tome that caught her eye on the top shelf. After retrieving her prize, she opened the book, and winced at the cracking sound the old spine gave off after she pried it open. 

The book’s subject was something interesting and insofar mostly unknown to Galle- The first Holy War and the rise of the Crusaders, blessed by the gods themselves. Now _this_ was something truly old, some real history. Galle inhaled the illuminated text like wyverns she often fed at the aerie. Galle, in her rather haphazard reading of the old book, caught sight of her own name in the text, and eagerly searched for more in the hopes she was named after some great historical figure, maybe even a relative of an original Crusader!

But her heart sunk deep in her chest and she felt searing anxiety lance through her blood when she read the section she had found.

Galle was the name and title of the Emperors and Empresses of the Lopto Empire, bestowed onto the heir when they were possessed by the Earth Dragon Loptyr. 

Galle pulled back her rampaging thoughts and attempted to rationalize. It could be it was simply a coincidence, or the name was an accident. But then the world crashed down when she remembered her own connection to the earth: churning the dirt to unearth stones, perching on a castle wall and tripping people with raised ground, whipping tiny dust storms around just for the fun of it. All those innocent and forceless activities were tainted by this darker knowledge. The stone floors beneath Galle’s feet cracked.

After she calmed herself down somewhat, Galle resolved she would get answers from her relatives, wheedling and prodding be damned. She was always a straightforward girl, and she intended to ask her aunt and uncle outright what the hell was going on.

Now to find them…

———

Seliph looked up from his seemingly-unending paperwork to see his niece barge into his office without preamble or knocking. 

“Where’s Aunt Julia?” she demanded, rather than asked, her violet eyes dark and hard.

Seliph raised a brow at this unusual behavior, but he humored Galle for now. “She should be in the magic labs, why?”

“No reason. I’ll be back soon.” Galle deflected rather unsuccessfully, and Seliph was alone once again with his occupation. 

The emperor sighed and forced himself back to his work, hoping nothing had gone too catastrophically wrong. 

Galle shortly returned with his sister in tow, and started her conversation with her guardians rather bluntly.

“Who were my parents, really?” At Seliph and Julia’s exchanged glances, she added on “And don’t try and brush it off, I’ve already read about the Galles and the old Empire, so I know more than you think.”

Seliph looked to his sister, speaking in a sharp Thracian dialect so as not to be overheard by Galle.

 _“Should we tell her?”_ He asked.

Julia nodded her head. _“She already knows quite a bit, and keeping such a thing from her for so long would be detrimental. I’ll explain it to her.”_

Julia then turned her head back to fuming niece, starting as gently as she could. “Your grandfather and grandmother were pushed together by a bishop of the Lopto Sect to create a child with Major Loptyr blood. Your father was the result of that, and after Manfroy manipulated him to pick up the Book of Loptyr and solidify his possession by the dragon, my brother engaged in relations with a human woman. You were the result. Your mother named you on suggestion of your father, and we decided to respect her decision.”

At Galle’s shocked expression, Seliph butted in to plead “Please understand, we didn't want you to grow up ostracized, or feeling less of yourself. We just-“

But his reasons went unheard, as Galle had fled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galle is kind of a weird case because i guess technically she has three biological parents? like how the fuck does the possession thing work.  
> Take a guess what Galle’s holy blood inheritance is. If someone gets correct I’ll, uh, post the next chapter earlier. (and it cant be Mila, Loptyr, Grima, Naga, or Idunn because they already know and that’s cheating. I’m watching u)
> 
> Please comment. I hate to seem demanding but yall, i need feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in the fe4 timeline i think Seliph ought to have married. Fill in the blanks with who you like, just not relatives.  
> Also Galle doesn't have any problems with blood or gore. Remember she hangs out in the wyvern aeries a lot, and wyverns would have a diet of raw meat. i like to think wyverns can be rather like cats: they think we’re poor, ugly clawless kittens who need help doing everything. Bonds between rider and wyvern are a bit different than that of domesticated wyverns and every other human.

Galle ran out of the castle and to the wyvern stables, knowing nothing but she needed to be alone, far away, some place to think and process. She snagged a Mend stave for her journey but neglected to obtain an offensive tome. She didn’t really need a tome for the simpler Dark spells, anyway (and didn’t that make far too much sense in the light of her heritage?). While in the armory, Galle pilfered one of the standard military ration packs, figuring it wouldn't be missed.

Upon reaching the stabling area, she blew down the isles and yanked open the door to Chayil’s stall, whistling for her friend to follow. The wyvern complied; the wyverns always had adored Galle, even occasionally attempting to groom the girl like she was one of their own. When they reached the launching point, Galle mounted Chayil bareback and they lifted off, heading to no location in particular. 

———

Exhausted, Galle and her wyvern touched down somewhere in the wilderness, the sun setting and the trees swaying in the wind. She dismounted, dragging her sack of provisions with her. Chayil grumbled and settled beside Galle, thumping to the ground in tiredness. Galle tossed a chunk of salted meat to the reptile, who snatched it out of the air and devoured it whole. The girl herself took out some dense bread and started tearing it apart. 

A raccoon ambled out of the woods at the scent of food, but both Galle and her wyvern growled, low and guttural and almost matching, and the animal fled in terror.

Despite the circumstances, due to tiredness Galle slept soundly leaned against Chayil’s hide, the wyvern’s wing draped over her.

The next morning brought more hard traveling, but not before breakfast. Chayil had wandered off during the sunrise, and Galle awoke to the thud of a carcass hitting the ground next to her head. Chayil, looking as satisfied as a wyvern could, ripped open the doe and started gorging. Galle laughed at the morbidly adorable image of her wyvern slurping up an intestine like a child would long noodles. Unfortunately, upon opening her own rucksack, it appeared she had eaten far more than she initially thought. She also lamented her lack of foresight in forgetting to bring a flint and steel, or even a Fire tome. 

Chayil seemed to smell of her human companion’s hunger, and tore off a tender backstrap from the deer, crawled over to Galle, and dropped the meat right at her crossed legs. Galle felt some disgust, but her stomach rebelliously growled anyways. She really was quite hungry, and with her naturally large appetite the sparse rations were enough to starve her.

 _Well_ , she thought, _Earth dragons would be like wyverns, right? Maybe it would be safe to eat?_

Cautiously, Galle dabbed a finger on the chunk and sucked on it, surprised to find the blood didn't taste repulsive. It wasn’t particularly tasty, rather bland and gamey, but the meat still tasted like, well, food. She continued to pick at the chunk of red meat under Chayil’s watchful gaze until half of it as gone. Galle grinned, somewhat uneasily, as the wyvern licked the blood clean of the girl’s face.

After breakfast, strange as it was, Galle mounted and continued off, worrying about what this said about her humanity.

———

Ishtar, working by candlelight, scribbled on her parchments, hoping for a breakthrough on spellcrafting. It had taken her nearly a decade, but the thunder mage felt she was making progress on the spell had invented; she had named it Bolting, a long range siege weapon. Rodmilla and Brigid were both asleep, unable to keep up with the late nights Ishtar often took in her work.

Ishtar’s head jerked up at a knock, some strands of pale hair shaken out of her bun. Visitors were completely unheard of here, and one arriving may bode ill. She stood and abandoned her spell for now, silently padding to the door to open it.

The visitor was certainly not what Ishtar was expecting. A red-haired girl whose eyes reflected the lantern-light strangely perched on the noblewoman’s porch, a wyvern behind her. She supposed that the girl might be a Thracian runaway, if the wyvern behind her was any indication. Thracia was the only country where everyone, from commoners to kings, possessed wyverns. Immediately, the girl launched into an explanation, leaving no room for Ishtar to interject.

“Oh, hell, sorry if I woke you up, but do you mind if I use your barn? We need a place to sleep and I’ll be gone by morning, I swear.” she babbled.

Ishtar held up her hands. “Whoa there, it’s fine. However, if you think I would delegate child to sleeping in a barn when I have a perfectly serviceable third bedroom, you are sorely mistaken.”

“… Oh. Thank you, madam.” The redhead replied, somewhat mollified. 

Ishtar held open the door and motioned for her to come in, the wyvern attempting to follow her but resigning itself to sleeping on the porch. Ishtar briefly worried about her cats when they came by in the morning, but they should be fine. She led her houseguest to the spare room, outfitted with a cot and nothing much else. Ishtar asked if it was fine, the girl nodded her assent, and then proceeded to collapse into the bed face first and start snoring.

Ishtar, without preamble, returned to her work and continued to refine the Bolting spell. 

———

Ishtar woke, as always, early in the morning. She rose, stretched, and put her over-robe on over her undershirt and sleep-breeches. She exited her room and moved groggily to the small kitchen, spotting Rodmilla already hard at work cooking breakfast. It didn't take long after Ishtar sat down for the smell of food to bring out both Rodmilla and the young redhead; it seemed both of them awoke only for the promise of breakfast.

Ishtar motioned for them to sit at the small table and they did, the girl slouching and resting her head on her hand. She perked up significantly once Rodmilla started spooning out the oatmeal, barely waiting for the spoon to lift off her plate before she began to devour it. Ishtar wryly picked up her own fork and ate in a far more proper and unhurried manner. Ishtar’s houseguest finished ahead of Brigid by a significant margin: truly quite the accomplishment. 

She took her plate to the washbasin and called over “Thank you for the food!” to her hosts. The girl then walked out to the back porch to entertain herself before she was set to leave.

Ishtar, as she always did, thanked her guard-servant for the meal and followed her guest out to the back. She admittedly wished to speak at length with the girl; her cottage was not precisely the best location to receive news of the outside world from.

Ishtar saw the redhead tending to her wyvern, picking out dirt and stones from the reptile’s scales. With her hair parted loose and her overlarge sleep-shirt draped over her thin frame, Ishtar was able to see her guest’s upper back and neck. And there, on her spine at the junction between neck and back, the girl had a mark Ishtar knew quite well.

The mark of Loptyr, like that which was on Julius’s forehead.

Ishtar slammed the door and found no shame in the stark shock she felt. She collected herself for a good fifteen minutes, wondering how in the name of the gods her daughter had found her way back here of all places. Still, she had to talk to Galle- it might be the last time she will be able to speak to the girl.

Ishtar took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and once opened the door leading to the back porch. Both girl and wyvern appeared to be sunning themselves, Galle sprawled on the wyvern’s side. 

“So,” Ishtar began, catching her guest’s attention. “You are related to the emperor, it seems?”

Galle promptly fell off her wyvern in shock. “Whuh? How did- uh, I mean, what makes you think that? No, shit, I-“

Ishtar waved her hand in a silencing motion. “The mark on your back. There was only one man with the bloodline that mark indicates, and I knew him quite intimately.”

At her daughter’s continued confusion, Ishtar elaborated. “He was my lover.”

“So that means… oh. Oh!” Galle exclaimed, before rushing and hugging her mother fiercely, Ishtar grunting in surprise as she was near lifted off her feet. The exiled noblewoman felt the ground beneath her shivering, as if purring for Galle. 

Ishtar asked her daughter what life was like with her aunt and uncle, and Galle eagerly launched into various mismatched anecdotes from her life. However, they soon strayed into more serious topics.

“So, um, Mother. Was my father a good person, before he was possessed?” Galle asked.

Ishtar had to ponder for a moment. It had, after all, been fifteen years since she’d last seen Loptyr, and even longer since she had seen Julius. “He was… somewhat frail, to begin with. Very intelligent, he often preferred to keep to himself and his close family and friends rather than be amongst the people.” Ishtar smirked. “Would you believe me if I told you you aunt Julia used to have the more forceful personality?”

Galle shook her head dubiously.

Ishtar continued. “Yes, he took rather after the late Empress Deirdre. Julia hid it far better, but she had her father’s embers smoldering in her.”

On the topic of family, Ishtar frowned and reminded “You realize I’ll have to send word to the Emperor and Julia. No doubt they’re worrying tremendously.”

Before her daughter could open her mouth full of slightly too-sharp teeth to protest, Ishtar prematurely cut her off. “No buts. Your aunt and uncle would surely find you. You cannot live here forever. Besides,” She added. “Brigid and Rodmilla are obligated to send word to the Emperor should something out of the ordinary happen like this.”

“… Fine.” Galle uttered mullishly.

Before heading inside, Ishtar turned to the snoozing wyvern (she never knew war-mounts could be so lax and lazy.) at her daughter’s feet. “Does your mount need sustenance as well?” She asked.

Galle replied “Who, Chayil? Nah, she’ll hunt on her own, she’s fine.” she waved off.

Ishtar nodded. “So be it. It’s nearly the lunch hour, should we head back inside?”

Galle bolted back into the house at the mention of food nearly faster than Ishtar’s eyes could follow.

———

_Emperor Seliph of Grannvale,  
It seems your lost niece has found her way back home. Galle arrived, at the time of this letter, yesterday evening, looking for lodgings. It was only by chance I found out who she was before she continued fleeing. She cannot stay here, as much as I would love her to- she has family and friends and a home back at Belhalla. _

_I invite you to come visit my abode. I advise that you hurry, as keeping such a free spirit such as my daughter in a single location may be difficult. And if I may ask: has she always exhibited the traits of earth dragons? I have heard a number of interesting things from her, and would hope her… oddities were properly accommodated. If not, we will be having words, Your Majesty._

_Regards,_

_Lady Ishtar of Tordo._

———

When the door knocked, Ishtar had a decent idea of who could be waiting behind the wood barrier. Galle seemed to as well, if her anxious expression was any indication. Brigid moved to answer the door herself, expecting some delegation of the emperor’s.

However, the face that greeted her was certainly not that of a simple delegate.

“Your Majesty!” That axe-woman gasped “You- what- what of Belhalla?”

Seliph entered and said “Matters are in our half-sister’s hands. Now if you would excuse us.”

He strode past Ishtar’s guard, his dark braid swishing behind him.

“Aw, hell.” Her daughter muttered into Ishtar’s ear. “He used the royal plural, I am so screwed.”

Ishtar opted to take a more neutral route and reply “That would be due to your own actions. I take no blame in this.” She finished primly.

Galle growled softly, an honest-to-gods animal growl, but promptly shut up as her guardian approached. Ishtar noted that sixteen years of rule had not been kind to the Lord of Baldur, the faint beginnings of crow’s feet emerging on his face. The noblewoman noted the presence of a wedding band on his finger- it seemed there was an empress as well, now. 

“Lord Baldur.” She greeted cordially, neglecting his imperial title for his older, blood-tied one. 

“Lady Tordo.” He returned, just as even toned as she. It seemed the ignorant noble child had grown considerably in the shades of pitch and tone necessary for politics. He had to, if he had to shepard that farce of a court. Ishtar hoped rather ardently that he had rid the noble ranks of dunces and boot-lickers. 

Seliph saw fit to speak first, to his highest priority. “Young lady, what in the name of the gods were you thinking?! I and your aunt have been worried sick, and the guard captain is about to hang himself for not being able to find you, and the library has a crack along the floor, and-“

Galle, looking a tad panicked in the face of a concerned uncle’s onslaught, held up her hands in a fending motion. “Whoa whoa, Uncle, I’m sorry! Besides, I like it here.”

Before Seliph could object, Ishtar cut in. She had a stake in her daughter’s future, dammit. “No. Absolutely not, you cannot live here. Your education and family and rank are in Belhalla!”

“In the name of Narga! You just said a few days ago you wanted to catch up on time we lost!”

“Would it actually be invoking the name of Narga properly if you in particular did it, my lady?”

Galle bared her tiny fangs. “Not the time, Brigid!” she snarled. 

She returned to her argument. “At least here I can eat without getting weird looks and being the subject of court gossip for another decade- gods know that diet is a specialty of theirs!”

“Oh yeah!” She continued her tirade. “Did you know raw meat actually tastes good to me? Seriously, what the hell? I feel better than I have ever, it’s like my damn thin blood is gone!”

Seliph had enough, and he grabbed the top of his niece’s head in a firm grip, shutting her up immediately. If he heard a whisper of “Oh crusaders, she has an off lever.” from Brigid’s station, he ignored it.

“Now,” he began, doing his utmost to remain calm. “I’m sure there’s a solution. In fact, I may have one.”

Ishtar, almost transfixed by the stones that had ripped themselves out of the ground and circled around Galle’s feet, felt immensely relieved at the thought of a compromise.

“Galle, perhaps, if you were to return home, continue to live there, you could be allowed to visit your mother whenever you wish. Barring prior engagements, of course.”

Galle instantly thrust out her hand and grinned “Deal!”

Nobody noticed Brigid swear in her part of the room as stones struck her right on the thighs.

———

Her Imperial Majesty Galle the 18th, Empress of Grannvale, traveled by solitary wyvern to an isolated pocket of land with a small chateau built on it. The empress had only recently taken the crown at age forty, as her retired uncle and his wife had borne no children. Galle admittedly found some irony in a Major Lopto sitting on the throne of Heim, just a little bit. She worried for little of attack- after decades of training and honing her connection to the mountains and earth, so even unarmed she was likely to be the deadliest amongst her opponents. Galle’s wife would still worry, of course. 

Galle steered Chayil down to the empty cottage, the wyvern tamely following the pair doing the same. She dismounted, ad entered her second home. While Ishtar had been buried with her family in Freege, Galle, as a surviving relative, had right to inherit the old noble’s personal belongings.

When Galle entered, she recalled snatches from her life here. Hissing and clawing at Ishtar’s tiny horde of semi-feral cats on her porch. Ishtar attempting to teach her thunder magic and it backfiring explosively, in a quite literal sense. Galle introducing her wife to her mother.

Galle had emptied herself of tears for now days ago. And seeing the barren and cold bungalow she felt heartened, for Lady Ishtar of Tordo was free, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the casual shirts i’m imagining Galle in, look up Napoleonic era french men’s sleepwear.
> 
> Galle was able to marry a woman because she's a stubborn fuck, and as the empress there’s not much anyone can do to dissuade her, particularly not a woman as bull-headed as she. And with some parts of her heritage semi-public knowledge now (people would know, she's damn proud of her blood parents, despite their many mistakes. Her mom in particular was a kickass lady), the court was too scared shitless to say no. They had an heir anyways, via substitute and borne by Galle, as the imperial bloodline-carrier. Her son is Major Lopto, Minor Fala (It skipped a generation, and the father had no crusader blood).
> 
> And yes, I wrote in Ishtar as the inventor of Bolting. The goddess of thunder haunts us poor bastards even in newer gba games.

**Author's Note:**

> Ishtar is really a peacemaker at heart- she lived in the wrong time for peacemakers, however. She’s an excellent example of a very powerful person who simply wants peace, but can and will use that immense power to protect her loved ones. She has pretty decent composure too, but that was probably part of the political training most nobles typically receive. Also I’m under the impression that Julia would be a batshit terrifying politician, just sayin.


End file.
